


A Light in the Crowd

by TeddyAi



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Developing Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Allura/Shiro (Voltron), Minor Hunk/Shay (Voltron), POV Alternating, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Slow Burn, havent decided on smut or not, non binary pidge, not gon lie, probably, will add rating once I decide about that smut bit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 05:36:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12336519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeddyAi/pseuds/TeddyAi
Summary: Lance fucking bolts. He haphazardly pins a flyer to the bulletin board by the glass doors of the building before tripping his way down the stairs and pushing double time to his next class. This time it’s not because he’s late, but because he can’t take being nearKeith, even the thought of his name sends shivers down Lance’s spine, for another second.As Keith heads towards the exit a flyer falls at his feet. He picks it up, scrutinizing it. A strange expression comes across his face, a mix of longing and disheartenment, before he folds the paper up and stuffs it into his pocket.(A Band AU where Lance is working to create a band in college, but needs some decent people to share the enjoyment with.)





	A Light in the Crowd

**Author's Note:**

> With season 4 upon us I've decided to finally brace myself and start putting up my first Voltron fic. 
> 
> It's gonna be a long one, I can already tell.
> 
> Interested in talking? Tumblr: teddyai.tumblr.com

He’s late, so uncomfortably late, his first day of his second year in college and he’s _late_. 

He swings the door open in his rush, doing nothing to help his predicament as rows of eyes follow the movement and clearly hear the loud bang echo out into the room. His professor is already giving him a very bored and unamused look. He smiles sheepishly in turn, hand coming up to rub his hair out of nerves. The professor promptly ignores him in favor of continuing to go over the syllabus. Lance supposes he should be grateful for that. 

It’s a lecture class, they don’t exactly take attendance with the hundreds of people in here, but Lance goes and makes a fool of himself anyway. 

“Way to go, McClain,” he mutters to himself before taking a seat in the back row.

He got up on time and everything, and though he’d rather not, he admits he only has himself to blame here. 

What was just mindless humming turned into a feverish need to _‘write this down’_. So, once again, Lance finds himself stopping any and all progress of getting ready in favor of plopping down on his bed with guitar in hand, scribbling music notes down ardently. 

He can’t help it, it’s an addiction, quickly becoming the only thing consuming his mind. 

And he loves it. 

The serene feeling that washes over him as though he were drifting, allowing the music in his head to push and pull him whatever way it chooses. His mind and body are on autopilot as they fall into the natural rhythm of testing notes, feeling if it clicks or not, and jotting something down on paper. Then he’ll test something else, compare, before erasing the previous notes and replacing them with the improvement. The sheet is quick to become a mess of half erased blemishes and rubber shavings.

He had utterly lost track of time. A complete prisoner, the beat continues to haunt him until it’s written safely in his pad of music sheets.

Had lady luck not been on his side he may have missed his first class of the day entirely. Saved by his tiny, lively niece and nephew. Them barging into his room like the entire world was collapsing really shakes one out of their reverie. Their high-pitched screeching almost pulling a curse out of his lips, but he played it cool, _‘Oh sh-cheese its!’_ His mother scolded him for language anyway. He was also scolded for being half naked in front of his innocent niece and nephew. Lovely.

Scurrying to haphazardly put on clothes, flying down the steps, bolting out the door while his mother so lovingly, yet not so kindly, shoved a lunch bag in his face. He managed to scramble all his stuff together in the nick of time. 

Or so he thought. But clearly not since he here he is, fucking late.

He’s still taking Gen-Eds and his current class is in a huge lecture hall crammed with freshmen to juniors alike. He wouldn’t be surprised to find a few seniors stuffed in here as well. The class is Enjoyment of Theatre. Not exactly something he’s all that interested in or anything that pertains to his major, but hey, it’s said to be an easy class so he took it. 

He’s still slightly frazzled, but a little less jumbled, from the fiasco of the _‘holy shit I’m late and a fucking idiot’_ incident, as he takes out his syllabus and pen. 

He takes a better look at his surroundings, attempting to gain the rest of his bearings. He’s at the very top row, close to the door he entered from on the left side. He wanted the corner seat, but someone is already sitting there, of course, everyone wants the corner seat. 

He takes in the guy’s frame, seemingly shorter than himself with pale porcelain skin. His face is hidden behind the palm he’s using to hold his chin up, which is clad in the most emo looking gloves Lance has ever had the opportunity to lay eyes on, as well as the long dark ebony hair covered with a red beanie. _‘Does he have a mullet?’_ Lance thought incredulously, face morphing into a cringe because, seriously, what is with this guy’s style?

Just as he’s about to turn away violet eyes meet azure. Mind you the cringe is still plastered on his face, and the boy scowls. His brows furrow in on themselves and the eyes seem to be staring through Lance’s soul. _‘He’s pretty’_ Lance thinks, maybe in a menacing _‘leave me the fuck alone way’_ , but still nice to look at. Is anyone with a mullet supposed to be that easy on the eyes? Then Lance realizes his jaw is dropped and he’s looking like an absolute idiot.

Again. 

What is his problem today?

“What’s your problem?” The boy mouths to him. 

Clearly Lance isn’t the only one wanting to know.

Lance just settles on giving him a shit-eating grin and waving the whole thing off. He’s hoping desperately he comes off as nonchalant.

He fixes his gaze onto the syllabus before him, too terrified of making a bigger fool of himself. Instead, he opts for pulling out the music sheet he was working on this morning. Humming as lightly as possible, he writes down the notes that come to him naturally. It isn’t easy to do without his guitar, he can’t be a hundred percent sure these notes will sound the way he wants them to, but at least it’s keeping him occupied and making sure he does not look at the cute boy sitting only two seats away from him.

Once class ends Lance runs up to the raven-haired boy in hopes of making a better impression. He is cute, so he should at least make an effort.

“Hey!” Lance greets casually, sidling up to the side of the stranger.

The guy doesn’t even spare him a glance. “What do you want?”

Okay, so not the most approachable person ever, he can handle this. “The name’s Lance, Lance McClain.” He turns his head and positions himself in front of the boy before he can walk out the door. Other students are maneuvering around them expertly, trying to get to their next class no doubt.

“Okay, so?”

Lance huffs in aggravation. “So, what’s your name hot shot?”

“None of your business,” He mutters, moving past Lance, but not without bumping his shoulder rather forcefully on his way.

“Rude!” Lance calls out indignantly.

“Whatever.” And with those last words, the boy disappears into the sea of people, never once looking at Lance.

Lance may, or may not have, thrown a tantrum inside his head before stomping off to his next class, muttering about mullets, boys who were definitely not cute, and the need to make a change in seating arrangements come Wednesday.

 

-

 

Keith hurries down the stone steps of the building, taking two at a time, a blush creeping up along his pale neck. “What’s with that guy?” He mutters while pulling his phone and earbuds out of his hoodie pocket. He quickly plugs them into his ears and plays music in hopes of blocking out anyone else who thinks it might be a good idea to chat him up.

He has an hour break before his next class and takes the opportunity to make a coffee run at the coffee shop slightly off campus to avoid big crowds. With his anxiety already through the roof, he really just needs to be near something or someone familiar.

The walk is a blessing. Music continues ringing in his ears, settling his nerves. The breeze flows through his hair and over his face, cooling him down nicely. A breath of relief releases from his lips when he nears the brick structure of the café. It’s still a hot spot for college students to go, being not all that far off campus, but it’s mostly unknown to the freshman since it’s only the first day. Plus, he knows a friendly face is there waiting to greet him.

The bell chimes as he pulls the large oak door open. The smell of coffee grains and vanilla waft over his nose. He can feel the inkling of a smile grace his face. It probably just looks like a straight line and less of a frown than before to passersby. Unfortunately, he’s known to be guilty of a resting bitch face. Though it does come in handy when he wants to avoid talking to people, like today. 

He takes in the homely sight of the shop. To the right side is a lounge area with old retro furniture and book shelves that hold a vast array of things varying from magazines to old play scripts for their patrons to read. Back in the corner is a minuscule stage for when they hold live houses. The left side holds a row of mahogany tables hugging the wall with chalkboards hanging at each one for their patrons to doodle on and use in study sessions. Keith could confirm, they are a big help. He passes by the bar counters that line the front windows to reach the island that lay smack dab in the middle of the cluster.

He’s welcomed with warm onyx eyes the moment he steps in and raises his hand in greeting to the barista, his brother, Shiro.

“Hey!” Shiro chirps, excited to see his younger brother so early in the day. “Americano?” Keith nods, pulling out his wallet. Keith hands him exact change and Shiro chipperly puts the money in the register after ringing the order up.

“You sure are vibrant this morning,” Keith comments blandly, not certain how his brother does it.

“And you look like a sourpuss.” Shiro retorts. “Bad first class?”

Shiro starts on his drink and Keith follows, the pastry showcase separating the two. “There was this guy who kept making weird faces at me during class after embarrassing himself by coming in late. It was weird.” He admits with a sigh.

“Weird faces?” Shiro inquires, looking for elaboration. He pours the espresso into the paper cup and then fills it with hot water.

“I don’t really know…” Keith trails off, trying to recall the encounter. He mostly just remembers feeling irritated. “He first looked like he was in pain?” Keith shrugs, holding his hand out for the drink as Shiro slides on a disposable slip before passing it over to him.

“And after?” Shiro encourages, clearly wanting all the nitty gritty details.

“He was gaping at me?” Keith shakes his head, still not sure himself.

Shiro’s face turns smug. “Maybe he thought you were cute?”

Keith just sighs, covering his mouth with his free hand in thought. “I think he was messing with me.” He admits in a gruff voice.

Shiro laughs good-naturedly. “Who knows, maybe he was messing with you because he thought you were cute?” He wiggles his eyebrows for effect.

“Shiro, drop it,” Keith growls, walking away from his obnoxious brother. “I have to head to my next class, see you later.”

 

-

 

Having finished all his classes for the day Lance Pushes wearily through the doors of the café attached to the back of the library, the morning drowsiness ready to take him under even though It’s now already noon. He didn’t have the time in his rush earlier to get any coffee beforehand, it had been a chore just _attempting_ to stay awake throughout all his classes.

Lance drags his long legs to the counter, looking over the familiar menu. Settling on getting his usual order he makes eye contact with the barista. “Caramel Latte please.” His voice is hoarse from dozing in and out in his last class. 

If he had the energy he’d throw in a pick-up line, because the girl is rather cute. But really all he can think about right now is how fatigued he feels and how much he really wants to crawl into his bed and maybe go into a coma. Maybe sleep forever. Okay, too much. He loves living. But still. He never did get back into a proper sleep schedule over summer break. 

It’s only noon he reminds himself. He has a long day ahead of him.

While wallowing in self-pity over his exhaustion, waiting for his drink, he feels a hand clamp down on his shoulder and jumps slightly. He looks over to see familiar warm brown eyes twinkling back at him. “Hunk!” he yells, exhaustion be damned now that he’s face to face with his best buddy. “Hey!” He throws himself into one of Hunk’s bear hugs, nuzzling the large chest a little. The warmth certainly a comfort to his tired body.

“Hey, bud!” Hunk grins at him, looking much more refreshed and energetic than Lance. “You didn’t sleep early last night, did you?” Hunk teases.

“Heck no!” Lance admits, not even the slightest bit remorseful. “I was too busy coming up with this new song to sleep.”

“Ooh! I bet it’s good.” Hunk praises and Lance can’t help the pride that blooms in his chest. “Speaking of, we’re making the flyers today, right?”

“If you’re not busy I’m good to go after I get my coffee.” Not long after the words leave his lips is the name of his drink being called from the cute barista. Lance runs over feeling a considerable amount better than previously. He brushes his fingers against the girls when grabbing his drink and winks, “Thanks, sweetheart.” He gives his signature grin, satisfied with the giggle the cutie lets out, before running back over to Hunk.

“Don’t you ever get tired of flirting?” Hunk asks exasperatedly.

“Beautiful people deserve to know they’re beautiful!” Lance counters with a smug smile.

Hunk shakes his head and laughs. “You know, when you put it that way, it doesn’t even sound half bad.”

“I know!”

They exit the café and enter the library, making their way to one of the group study areas. Settling into a round booth Hunk pulls out his laptop for both of them to see.

As the laptop boots up, Hunk makes idle conversation. “So, you made all your classes morning classes again?” It’s obvious to him judging by the dark circles around his friend’s eyes that he’s been up for a while. Though he himself has been up just as long, he has much better time management than poor Lance over here.

“Yeeeeup,” Lance drawls out unhappily, popping the ‘P’ in exaggeration. Lance sips from his disposable coffee mug, curling his legs up underneath him to get into a more comfortable position. If he isn’t careful he might fall asleep like this.

“If you hate it so much why do you do it?”

“You know,” Lance says, waving a hand in the air, “for my job.” He quirks an eyebrow at Hunk. “Come on, don’t tell me you forgot.”

“Ah, you’re a lifeguard at that amusement park, right?”

Lance hums in agreement, taking another sip of the warm beverage. It feels as if life is seeping back into his body with every gulp. “But when the water park closes I have to work elsewhere in the park. Like a ride operator or at the raceway or campgrounds,” He groans, clearly displeased with the idea.

“People wouldn’t notice, but you’re a really hard worker Lance.” Hunk acknowledges as he logs into the laptop, bringing up a file previously saved.

“Hey, I take offense to that!” Lance pokes Hunk’s muscular arm. “We can’t all be smart enough to have full rides okay?” Lance mentions this snidely, but both of them know there’s no actual heat in the words.  
Hunk laughs heartily and pats his friend’s head. “So, are we going to just go with the design we made over the summer?”

“I’m okay with that.” They look over the flyer layout. “It pops enough right, like people will totally notice it?”

“I think so...” They both stare in wonder, neither being the most creative bunch. “At the very least it will attract people who are interested?”

Lance eventually shrugs. “It’ll work.”

They move over to the printer and plug the laptop in. “How many?” Hunk asks, looking to Lance for confirmation.

“Uhh….” Lance starts counting on his fingers, mumbling the names of buildings that their campus consists of. “Then there are the offsite food places…” He continues mumbling, “my work place…” Already way past the number of fingers he owns Lance lets out a frustrated growl. “Aahhh! I don’t know!”

“How about we start with thirty?” Hunk suggests. “Like sure that’s not enough to cover the entire campus, but we can do some more tomorrow. I’ve got another class coming up soon so we need to hurry.” He explains before typing in the number of copies and listening as the printer whirs to life.

“Fine,” Lance mutters, seemingly defeated. “I have to work soon anyway.” He glances at the clock and feels a sweat droplet trail down the back of his neck. “Shit!”

Hunk looks up startled. “What’s up buddy?”

“I’ve got to be at work in less than an hour. It takes like thirty minutes to get there!” Lance grabs the copies that already sputtered out of the machine, roughly five, and starts flying toward the entrance. Hunk just gives him a sympathetic look as he watches him go. This is relatively normal.

-

Lance finds himself bursting through the doors to the amusement parks locker room only five minutes until the time to clock in. His clothes and other things bundled in his hands, and name tag gritted in between his teeth. He shoves the stuff crowding his hands onto a bench before rushing over to the time clock and punching in. A breath of relief rushes out of his system, past the name tag still in his mouth. Being late to class is one thing, but being late to work is just a no go. Gotta pay them bills. 

There are days Lance regrets being an adult, as though it were a conscious decision, despite only being nineteen.

He picks his clothes up and heads to the bathroom to change. Although already being in a locker room, it’s used for all genders, thus not a suitable place to really be changing. His uniform isn’t much since he’s a lifeguard. Swim trunks, a snapback placed on backward to keep his hair out of his face and flip flops. Wearing a shirt is optional, but he feels it’d just get in the way if he really does end up saving someone’s life and decided against it long ago. To him, it’s the most comfortable outfit ever and he’d willingly be a lifeguard the rest of his life, but it doesn’t pay _that_ well. 

He steps out of the bathroom and stuffs his clothes into his locker before draping his whistle around his neck and sticking sunglasses atop his hat. He glances at the rest of his stuff still laying over the bench, the flyers he wants to put up.

“Lance you’re by the wave pool,” He hears his supervisor call from the office.

“Wave pool, wave pool,” Lance sings excitedly. It isn’t actually the best place he can be put, but it’s the most common for him. He has more experience than others in pulling people out of the water, and the wave pool is one of the more likely places someone can really drown. Honestly, he prefers getting put at the end of one of the slides, then he gets to soak his feet in the water.

His supervisor pops out of the office with a radio in hand. “Here,” They hand him the radio with a blue strip of tape around it. All the employees were separated into groups: Green, yellow, blue and pink. Each has their own supervisor, their own breakers, and to keep radio traffic down they have their own radios. “Good job getting here at the last minute,” They smirk at him and Lance gives a little salute in return before grabbing his red float and skipping cheekily to his post at the wave pool. 

The flyers will have to wait.

His coworker looks up at him, relief flooding their eyes. “Thank god, Lance!”

“Lance, here to save the day!” He quips, tossing a water bottle at their direction.

They catch it effortlessly before thirstily downing the bottle as quick as they could. “I thought I was going to die! It’s so hot today, be careful dude.” They give Lance a pat on the shoulder before walking away to the break room.

Once alone he takes in the common sight. Glistening water shining a bright and clear aqua beneath the sun’s rays. 

Walking around the edges of the pool, he smiles. He pays attention to kids playing with their parents. To couples ogling each other. To friends squealing as the waves start to get bigger and bigger and they struggle to stay in time while jumping over them. He makes sure no one’s trying to dunk anyone, no one’s rough housing, no one’s _drowning_. His eyes never leave the forms floating in the large body of water.

It is hot today he notes. He started work at the hottest time of the day, 2 pm, and he can feel it as the sun beats down on his bare skin. Sweat starts pooling at his hairline, every so often he has to wipe it away. He’s already finished a couple bottles of water and is counting every second until one of his coworkers will bring him more. He’s been here a few hours, had one 15-minute break even, but this heat is draining his life force away. Not to mention the lack of sleep doesn’t help.

He takes off his snapback for a moment to ruffle his hair, which is starting to get slicked back from sweat. _‘Gross’_ he thinks, running his fingers through it to fluff it out while wiping away the sweat on his swim trunks. He places the cap back on as his face breaks out into a grin immediately upon noticing a small figure running up to him. “Pidge!” He squeals, so excited to see them, or rather see the drink they carry in their hands. “How’s my favorite water boy doing?”

Pidge grunts and lightly punches Lance in the shoulder. “Hella hot today,” They say as they hand over the water. “Your lunch break isn’t for another hour when Nyma comes in. You’re working eight hours today?”

“Two to ten, baby. I’m working cleaning duty after this.” Lance smirks as he greedily gulps the water down.

“How do you manage to get so many hours?” Pidge looks at him, a spark of disbelief in their eyes.

“I beg on my hands and knees, then wrap it up with a pity party bow.”

Pidge snorts and hands Lance another bottle of water. “Thought you could use this too.” Lance’s eyes shine with gratitude for the younger. He throws an arm around their neck and hugs them awkwardly, but tightly. “Okay, okay. Get off me.” Pidge laughs while pushing Lance away.

“You’re the best midget in the world,” Lance coos happily.

“Don’t push your luck pal.” Pidge gives him a stern look of warning, but he thinks he sees fondness in there somewhere. Deep, deep down. “I have to go give Chris a break at the Rocketeer coaster, but I think we’ll end up having break at the same time. Did your mom bring you lunch again? Because I’d love to eat her cooking.”

“What makes you think I’m gonna share?”

“Because you don’t know how to say no.” There’s a complacent smirk plastered on Pidge’s all too knowing face.

Lance sighs, already having lost because Pidge is his friend, of course he’s not going to say no. “Fine.”

“Told ya!” They wave as they bounce off to their next destination.

Lance faces the wave pool again, going back to his business. He’d love to pour his bottle of water over his skin for even a moment of relief from the sweltering heat that’s sticking persistently to his skin. He can feel his already tan skin probably darkening even more. He eyes the pool of water eagerly, wanting nothing more than to jump in himself. 

He notices a young kid trying to roughhouse with his brother in the deeper end and wonders if it’s enough of an excuse to dive in. Instead he settles for blowing his whistle and pointing at them, indicating them to stop. They unfortunately do. Lance wilts slightly, so hoping they’d ignore him so he could go in and drag them apart himself.

After some more people watching, as that is literally what most of his job consists of, Nyma finally taps him on the shoulder lightly. He turns and gives her a big grin. “Nyma!” He hugs her enough to pick her up a little before setting her back down. She giggles and Lance’s grin widens if possible. “Can I follow you?” He asks her, she just hums questioningly and shakes her head a little. “Cause my mom told me to follow my dreams.”

She slaps his arm lightly, a small blush dusting over her cheeks. “Stop being such a dork Lance.”

He shrugs, face still smiling happily. “But you love it!”

“whatever Lance, go take your break. I’ve got other people to break out besides you, you know.” She shoos him off and he gladly takes off toward the break room. The rush of wind making it feel like he could breathe for the first time in hours.

“PIIIIIIIDDDDGGGEEEE!” He screeches like a pterodactyl as he slams the door to the locker room open. He’s greeted with Gatorade spurted onto his chest from Pidge’s startled mouth. He couldn’t deny it actually felt good on his heated skin. “What the hell was that for!?” He whines, grabbing his towel out of his locker and drying himself off.

“That’s what I should ask you! Who comes barging in like that?” They squeal ineloquently, still shaken from almost being smacked in the head with a door. “The door was this close to hitting me!” Pidge’s index finger and thumb are about a centimeter width apart in hopes of proving their point.

“I was just trying to have some fun,” Lance mutters dismayed, still cleaning himself off with the white towel that’s slowly starting to dye blue. Pidge sighs and crosses the room, digging into Lance’s locker. “Hey, you can’t just go through people’s stuff Pidge!”

“Watch me.” Pidge finally finds what they’re looking for and pulls out the blue lunch bag. “Aha!”

“What if I had some personal stuff in there, Pidge!” Lance continues to whine.

“Why you would have personal stuff in your work locker is beyond me.” Pidge retorts, already opening the bag up and splaying the food along the bench. They get up and move to their own locker, pulling out a green lunch bag, setting their food alongside Lance’s. “Here, we’ll share.”

Lance nods and sits down, slowly picking at his food. “When do you get off?”

“Eight,” They say in-between bites of a sandwich.

“Have you started college yet?” Lance is plopping some fruit into his mouth, happy to eat after what feels like ages in the dry heat.

“Duh Lance, we go to the same college.”

Lance nearly chokes on his strawberry, smacking his chest a little until he’s able to fully swallow the red delight. “For real?”

“Lance, we’ve talked about this before, seriously?”

“I forgot!”

“Obviously.” Pidge’s eyes shift over to the papers still sprawled out on the bench from when Lance first got here. “What’re these?” Their small hand reaches and grabs one, looking the contents over. “Auditions for a band?”

“Oh, those are mine.” Lance smiles sheepishly, hand coming up to rub at the nape of his neck. “Me and my buddy are trying to start a band. A lot of people that work here go to our college so I thought it’d be a good idea to hang some up.”

“Cool,” Pidge says casually, continuing to read over the flyer. “My buddy and I, by the way,” they say, not even bothering to look up from the sheet in their hand.

“What?”

“It’s ‘my buddy and _I_ ’, not ‘me and my buddy’.”

“Oh my god. Pidge. My dude. Are you _seriously_ pulling a grammar Nazi moment on me?” Lance asks incredulously, throwing his hands up for effect.

“Just trying to help,” Pidge comments nonchalantly, finally looking at Lance. They push their glasses up a little higher on their nose, grinning smugly at Lance.

Lance huffs and slouches his shoulders. “You’re always _‘just trying to help’_!”

“And yet you never seem to actually acquire the knowledge I so kindly bestow upon you.” 

Pidge is cackling by now and Lance reaches over trying to throw the younger one into a headlock. Pidge is quick to get up, Lance’s lunch container in hand, and puts significant distance between the two of them. “No headlocks, noogies, or whatever other blasphemy you have planned, or the lunch gets it.”

Lance squawks “Pidge, you can’t do that, mom’s lunch in sacred!”

Pidge looks thoughtful for a moment before adding, “You’re right. I think I’ll just eat it by myself.”

“Excuse you! It’s _my_ lunch and I’m older than you, show some respect.”

“Ah! But older doesn’t mean wiser,” They teased, happily basking in the look of defeat forming over the tan face. They get the rest of their laughter out of their system before coming to sit back down next to Lance. Deterring from the conversation, before Lance really does decide to throw them in a headlock, they raise the flyer that had never left their grasp. “On another note, this is the sorriest excuse of a flyer I’ve ever seen in my life. Do you really think it’s going to attract anyone?”

Lance lets out a loud groan. “My friend and _I_ ,” He takes a moment to send a glare in Pidge’s direction, “aren’t exactly photoshop savvy, if you catch my drift.”

“Let me guess, this was made on word doc?”

“well yeah…”

“I could have still done a better job making this,” Pidge sighs, looking almost as though they were pitying Lance. “It’s literally just black and white words. Use color or something next time!”

“I know, I know!” Lance looks like a kicked puppy, but Pidge refuses to admit he actually looks cute.

“So, what do you play?” Pidge inquires, curiously eyeing the chestnut-haired boy.

Lance perks up almost immediately. “Well, I play guitar and do vocals. My buddy, Hunk, he plays the drums.”

“Hmm, interesting.”

“I know!” Lance is beaming as he talks about his passion. Fervently explaining how many songs he’s already written. How they tried and failed to make a band in his first year of college. How he loves the feel of guitar strings beneath his fingertips. How he really wants it to work out this year. 

Pidge has never seen Lance so serious and enthusiastic before, it really adds a whole new layer of complexity to his character they think.

“Would you maybe be interested in adding a keyboardist?” Pidge asks innocently.

“Oh yeah, totally!” Lance scrambles through his belongings stuffed into his locker before pulling out a pen and scribbling messily on all the flyers _‘keyboardist’_ next to the list of wanted members. He doesn’t notice Pidge’s smile as he does so.

\--

  


_‘Fuck… Me…’_

And honestly Lance isn’t sure if he means that sexually or not. Okay, maybe, there’s definitely a hint of sexual innuendo there.

And he _hates_ it.

Lance remembers the exact moment he thought making Acting as his minor a good idea. It can help him get used to audiences, tune into his stage character, be all around better with a crowd. Plus, it’s just fun as hell and he’s _good_ at it. He excels at bravado and flair.

It’s his thing. 

It’s comfortable.

It was the worst decision of his life.

He tries moving his own body to the rhythm the teacher put on, John Legend’s _All of Me_ , demanding them to stretch their limbs out before class really begins. He’s not completely failing, rolling his hips doesn’t take much thinking. 

_‘I know where I would rather be rolling my hips…’_

Yup, and there his thoughts go again, causing him to curse under his breath and blush the color of a ripe cherry tomato. 

He’s _trying_. Really, he is. But when you have a sexy stranger standing just a couple yards away from you, rolling their hips in a way that should be fucking _illegal_ , any sane person is bound to lose their composure. Not to mention this said stranger just happens to have conveniently not read the syllabus which strictly states that they need to wear loose clothes. Loose. Clothes. No, this guy right here is wearing tight ass skinny jeans. While bending to stretch, rolling his hips, lifting his arms in such a way that his shirt raises and the skin of his back is playing peek-a-boo with poor dying Lance over here. 

Simply put, Lance is in hell. A hell filled with tantalizing patches of bare skin and alluring hips. A hell he’s almost willing to burn in, if not for the identity of his current crisis. The pretty stranger from his not so suave moment yesterday.

Life, two points. Lance, zero.

Life’s a bitch.

It started when he, god forbid, thought he was going to have a decent day today. Lance managed to make it to his class on time, early even. He felt as though he were on cloud nine when he walked into the building that held his class, Acting I, with coffee in hand. He had been able to manage the unfathomable considering his current late streak. He showered, did his skin care routine, ate breakfast, grabbed coffee, and all without the feeling of rushing through a hurricane to do so.

It was bliss and not a damn thing was going to change his mind. Or so he thought.

He had planned, planned being the keyword here, to go into his class making everlasting impressions with his charming self, and _not_ have a repeat of the day before. He still doesn’t understand how he, the charismatic and bewitching Lance McClain, managed to get blown off. And he had looked so uncool in the process. It was tragic really.

Still he had, had a good feeling about today. Convinced that today would be perfect.

Oh boy, how wrong can a person get?

He was merely sitting along the hallway before class had started, minding his own business. His earphones blasted _Starships_ by Nikki Minaj, perfect for a mood booster. His head bobbed along to the rhythm absentmindedly, fingers tapped along his thigh, and a small smile graced his face. The sun shone through the large windows surrounding the entrance which gave him a nice cozy feeling while he waited for class to start. 

He had pulled out flyers from his bag with every intention of hanging them up. He was looking for a decent place to put up the white sheet, now accented with hints of blues and yellows after taking Pidge’s advice, and felt instant regret when he decided to look directly across from himself. 

There, with his hair messily pulled back, little tufts of hair not quite long enough framing his face and neck, was the rude boy from yesterday. Lance, much to his chagrin, had to admit he looked good with that ponytail. Scratch that, he looked fucking amazing. The boy wasn’t paying attention to him with headphones in his ears and a sketchpad perched on his lap, presumably hadn’t even noticed Lance.

Lance, flyers left forgotten in his lap, quickly pulled a book out of his bag to cover his face. It was an old literature book he’d been assigned for his English class. He remembers clearly because as he tried to actually read the random page he opened up to. It talked about being too scared to jump, for fear of being burned and cooked in fire, but at that time Lance thought he would jump. Burn him, go for it. Get him out of this curse called fate that’s taken the form of soft looking ebony locks, violaceous eyes and snowy skin. 

Lance prayed to the heavens that he wasn’t in another class with the surly one in front of him. A class that was fewer in numbers, an interactive class where they could possibly get paired up together. Lance was already lowkey _(if only he were that subtle)_ panicking as his eyes darted over the same line in the book over and over again.

When the teacher had finally walked into the corridor Lance was certain he’d never prayed so much in his life. The teacher went to unlock the door and Lance just stared at the boy whose name is still unknown to him.

He remembers chanting ‘please don’t get up, please don’t get up,’ while his fight or flight instincts bubbled to the surface, preparing his muscles to spring out the door in case destiny had a bone to pick with him. His hands were clammy and he worried he was going to stupidly drop the objects in his hands. No need to embarrass himself further in front of this guy. 

He calmed with each passing second, little bits of hope welled up in his chest. That was until the boy seemed to snap out of his trance, slid his sketchpad back into the black bag, and stood, heading for the dreaded classroom.

“Damn it!” Lance yelled, shock crept into his system immediately because he had said it out loud.

The boy finally noticed him and once again, he scowled. Could Lance never make a good impression when this guy is involved? Lance felt himself crying on the inside from the look he was given. A cringe undoubtedly plastered over his face. He managed to smile sheepishly in turn and he swiftly busied himself with putting his belongings back into his bag and rushed into the classroom to save himself from anymore humiliation. 

And that’s how his perfect day began rapidly morphing into an ordeal he was nowhere near prepared for.

Now he’s here, barely paying attention to what the teacher is saying, unable to rip his attention away from the pale neck of his decided enemy. His eyes following the sweat trail that’s started pooling at the edge of his hairline. But the words “Human Knot” don’t escape from his hearing and he can already feel the ache from jerking his neck up lightning fast.

“Everyone in a circle, grab each other’s hands,” She continues, clueless to the constipated look flashing over Lance’s otherwise flawless face. 

Still, Lance does as instructed. 

The class quickly shuffles into a medium sized circle, the class count is surprisingly low compared to others, and he feels himself getting nervous as he notices the boy his eyes never left line up a few people over from himself. 

He reaches up and out in front of him and holds the hands of two classmates gently, but not without wiping them swiftly over his sweatpants to rid of any unwanted moisture. He hopes his hands aren’t nearly as clammy as he thinks they are.

He can’t help the feeling of relief, or the tinge of slight disappointment, when noticing he wasn’t holding a hand clad in gloves. Just normal, plush skin against skin. He doesn’t even know who the hands belong to as they start awkwardly shuffling under arms, avoiding elbows to the face. 

“We need to be comfortable with one another if we’re to be acting with one another.” He can hear his teacher call over the music. 

It’s not a bad idea really. The human knot can put you is some ridiculously close positions that should help ward off any future embarrassment. 

Still, being slotted against the cause of his recent distress is not the way he wants to acquaint himself with the boy. Not with Lance’s back against his chest, certainly not with the boy’s breath fanning over his neck. He knows his butt is pressing into the guy’s crotch as they’re almost the same height, and it’s doing awful things to his insides. Ideas start coming to the forefront of his mind, the ones he’s been suppressing since the beginning of class. Things he really, _really_ should not be thinking about while in a swarm of meshed bodies.

Lance has stopped breathing. His eyes frantically search for the arm he should duck under to escape his current position. Unfortunately, his arms are crossed tightly over his chest, and he’s left to wait for the mercy of his classmates.

He can hear them all mumbling, trying to figure it out. 

He can _feel_ the boy behind him shift in discomfort.

“Can you move forward some?” Comes a harsh whisper over his shoulder. Lance can tell it was spoken with gritted teeth.

Lance turns to reply and his knees almost buckle underneath him because the guy’s face is _right there_. “Trust me, I would love to,” He mutters crossly, “But my arms are crossed so tight I feel like they’re about to be torn off.” It was true, he’s not exactly sure how far out in the tangle of limbs his classmates that grabbed his hands were, but he was starting to feel the burn from the awkward stretch his long arms had been forced into. 

He receives a frustrated sigh in response, but no sharp objection follows. 

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Lance decides to continue, unable to keep up the silent treatment. Wanting to do anything to take away from how uncomfortable this position was. The boy only quirks his eyebrow in response, not seemingly all that interested, but allowing Lance to continue. “We don’t even know each other’s names, yet here we are, up close and _really_ personal.” His eyes dip down, indicating his butt against a stranger’s crotch. “Normally I’d ask you to buy me dinner first.”

The boy huffs a laugh and Lance feels like he won a fucking prize.

“Keith.”

It’s short and clipped, spoken in an offhanded manner, yet the singular name given has Lance’s stomach doing flips. 

And the moment is gone as quickly as it came because Lance’s arms are finally no longer crossed in an unbearable way and he sees the raise of arms, his classmates encouraging him to dip under the bridge they made. 

He’s finally no longer pressing up against Keith, the group finally manages to untangle the knot, and Lance is desperately pushing the disappointment he feels deep into the pit of his stomach where it will stay buried even if it kills him.

Two things happen when class ends. 

The first, Lance fucking bolts. He haphazardly pins a flyer to the bulletin board by the glass doors of the building before tripping his way down the stairs, and pushing double time to his next class. This time it’s not because he’s late, but because he can’t take being near _Keith_ , even the thought of his name sends shivers down Lance’s spine, for another second. 

He can’t explain it, really. 

He doesn’t want to explain it honestly.

So, he does the best he can do and that’s run away. From Keith, specifically.

The second thing is as Keith heads towards the exit a flyer falls at his feet. He picks it up, scrutinizing it. A strange expression comes across his face, a mix of longing and disheartenment, before he folds the paper up and stuffs it into his pocket. 

He can’t tell you why he keeps the flyer, really.

He doesn’t want to explain it honestly.

But he _can_ tell you he has no intention of going.


End file.
